Ode to Joy
by rscoil
Summary: Erik attempts his own version of the Beethoven classic.


"Beethoven's _Ode to Joy_ is among the most famous pieces of music ever composed. Compose your own _Ode to Joy_. Pieces should be 3-5 minutes in length. Submit your files by 11:59 on Sunday night."

Erik stared at the prompt on his laptop screen. The composition workshop course was a requirement for the music minor, and he'd assumed it would be no problem to compose on demand. Normally, he sailed through the assignments in a few hours on Friday afternoon. This one, though. He'd rarely felt joy. How on earth was he going to make an ode to it?

"Erik? What's gotten into you? You're as tense as a bowstring." Dr. Valerius looked concerned. Erik was often moody, but he looked almost anxious today.

Theirs was a strange friendship. Herbert Valerius taught the intro level music theory course at the university Erik attended. Lots of students took his courses as electives, but few showed as much passion for music as Erik. The kid was a walking embodiment of music. Even as gangly as he was, he seemed to move with a grace guided by some unheard song.

It was two years now since he'd had Erik as a student, but he continued to allow the masked man to take up residence at the table in his office. The arrangement made sense, since it kept Erik away from prying eyes and gave Valerius some company. Herb was going to miss his strange companion when graduation came in May.

Erik rose from his chair and set his laptop on the professor's desk. Herb adjusted his reading glasses as he peered at the screen and read the prompt.

"Sounds like fun. I look forward to hearing what you come up with."

Erik groaned. "I have no idea what I'm going to write. If he'd asked for sorrow, I could make the angels weep. But joy? Do I look like the kind of person who writes about joy?"

Herb took in the ever-present flesh colored mask on Erik's face and the near luminous eyes that held a mild panic. Erik was well over six feet tall and skinny as a rail. Herb didn't think he'd ever seen the kid wear anything lighter than navy blue. Tall, dark, and, well, maybe not handsome. Brooding was perhaps a better word. At any rate, Erik looked more like a graveyard specter than a ray of sunshine.

Herb studied him thoughtfully. "Well, what does bring you joy?"

Erik deflated. "I don't really know. Usually music, but I'm currently frustrated with that. Do you see the problem?" He flopped back into his chair. "Who asks college kids to write about joy anyway? We're all running on caffeine, junk food, and maybe a few hours of sleep. There's not a lot to work with."

"Erik, when was the last time you did something fun?"

"That depends. What qualifies as fun?"

"When was the last time you were happy about something that wasn't related to school or music?"

"They had Death by Chocolate ice cream at the dining commons last week, but I don't think I could write a piece based on that."

"You're you, so I bet you could if you wanted to. What else? How about something involving other people?"

"I was happy the day I moved out of my mother's apartment, but I doubt that's what he's looking for. Besides, that's way too personal to write for a grade."

"Any fun times with friends?"

"This may shock you, but people don't exactly line up to hang out with a guy in a mask. I've never really had a friend." He glanced at the professor. "Well, at least not a friend my own age."

"Let me start the line, then. My wife and I are having a bonfire tonight. You are hereby invited to attend."

* * *

An hour later, Erik was buckled into the passenger seat of Herb's dusty old sedan. He didn't think he'd ever been in a car. His mother hadn't owned one, and if she did, she certainly would not have used it to take him out in public. His tiny dorm room was on campus, so he walked almost everywhere. The room was small, more of an oversized closet than a room, but it was his. He would be forever grateful that there was just enough scholarship money to pay for a single room.

Herb pulled into the driveway of a cozy looking house. This was another first, as Erik could not recall ever being in a house before. His mother had a small, run down apartment and it wasn't as though he ever had any friends to visit.

Herb led him through the front door and into the kitchen. From the faded family photos on the wall to the rooster theme of the kitchen decor, Erik drank in every detail.

Matilda Valerius was a tiny woman with flyaway gray hair. He introduced himself with some trepidation, but it was hard to be intimidated by someone who was a foot shorter than him. She hugged him warmly before returning to the bowl of brownie batter she was working on.

"Do you want to lick the bowl, Erik? Normally, Herb would do the honors, but you're the guest."

Erik blinked at her in confusion. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. What about a bowl?"

"Do you want to eat the extra the brownie batter from the bowl?" she clarified.

"Oh. Um, what does it taste like?"

"Don't tell me you've never had brownies or brownie batter before?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"Then get ready for a whole new experience! Herb said you like chocolate, so I made brownies. Come here."

She handed him a spoon and instructed him to fill it with the leftover batter in the bowl.

It was delicious, and all too soon, the bowl was empty.

"Just wait until the others are done in the oven. You're going to love them."

Erik had no doubt that he would.

He learned a lot of things that day: how to test if brownies were done in the oven, how to build a campfire, how to roast a hot dog over said campfire, and how to make s'mores. Sparks filled the air and wood crackled in the flames as he sat listening to the couple reminisce long into the night.

* * *

A week later, Herb found a container of brownies on his desk, along with several pages of sheet music. He smiled as he read it. Erik's compositions were typically dark and serious. The new piece was warm and (dare he say) cheerful. As the music played in his mind, he was back under the stars, telling a story while Erik and Matilda laughed. He could almost smell the smoke and taste the warm marshmallow of a s'more.

There was a note stapled to the packet and Herb recognized Erik's scrawl.

"Herb, did you know that joy tastes like brownies and food cooked over a campfire? Thanks."


End file.
